


Something Selfish

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, D13, Drabble, F/M, Hijacked!Peeta, Mentions of Katniss, Missing Scene, Soldier!Gale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:54:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21735619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: Grace_d has been a good Everlarker this year, so Secret Santa has come to answer her prompts for the Season of Hope Gift Exchange 2019!Prompt 2:Missing scene from MJ, Gale goes to visit Peeta during his hijacking treatment.
Relationships: Gale Hawthorne & Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne, Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark
Comments: 12
Kudos: 90
Collections: The Hunger Games 2019 Season of Hope Holiday Gift Exchange





	Something Selfish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grace_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grace_d/gifts).



> Merry Christmas everyone! 
> 
> I do not own the Hunger Games. 
> 
> I will like to thank the fabulous booksrockmyface@tumblr for her amazing beta skills; and the always insightful Lovelytothebone (Merry-Katniss@tumblr) for helping me organize my ideas. 
> 
> You gals are amazing and I couldn’t have this quality story without your input. Thank you both!
> 
> Thanks also to the organizers of the Exchange and all the hard work you put into it. Our holidays are better thanks to you!
> 
> Happy reading!

> “I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass.”
> 
> “What’d you think?” I ask.
> 
> “Something selfish,” says Gale.
> 
> “That you don’t have to be jealous of him anymore?” My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us.
> 
> “No. Just the opposite.” Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. “I thought… I’ll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I’m in.” He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. “I don’t stand a chance if he doesn’t get better. You’ll never be able to let him go. You’ll always feel wrong about being with me.”
> 
> Mockingjay, p.197

Catnip’s been gone for a couple of weeks.

She boarded a hovercraft to District 2 out of here without a measly goodbye, but that’s okay I guess. I should be used to it by now, her dashing off somewhere I can’t follow.

The fact she requested to be sent away of her own volition this time around, without sparing anyone a word, kinda stings though.

I can’t blame her for wanting to put distance between herself and 13.

She was miserable here anyway. Never fared well underground. Too much earth above her head for comfort, despite all the technological advances our hosts have to work with— we certainly never had anything like it back home in 12, not even her as a victor— but Catnip will never take to this place; not while it’s buried below the ruins of the old district. Not while _he_ ’s here, haunting her every thought.

I can’t begrudge her escaping to the surface when the opportunity presented itself, even though she left me behind. Again.

“State your business?”

I’m jarred back to reality from my musings by the clipped tone of the guard. I look at her, hoping that my face doesn't betray my dazed feelings.

The guard’s dressed in her full riot uniform, with her firearm strapped across her chest, as if she’s getting ready to jump into combat any second, instead of being stationed in front of a hospital room, deep in the bowls of District 13.

“I’m here to see Patient Mellark. My clearance comes straight from President Coin herself.” I say summoning my most authoritative voice, while pulling the cuff of my sleeve back so she can scan the barcode tattooed on purple ink on my forearm.

“Everything seems in order, Soldier Hawthorne,” says the guard after checking her scanner. “You have fifteen minutes. If the prisoner gets agitated or aggressive, you’ll be pulled out of the room before your allotted time is up. If _you_ become emotional or agitated, you’ll be pulled out of the room before your allotted time is up. I suggest you use your time wisely and please don’t aggravate the prisoner,” the guard steps to the side and nods. “You may proceed.”

I salute and step up to the metal and glass door. I look at Peeta through the window, and the fact the soldier called him “prisoner” instead of _patient_ — twice— doesn’t escape me. Peeta’s supposed to be an ally to 13, but he’s viewed as an enemy instead, is like he doesn’t belong anywhere anymore.

I’m not sure what I feel when I see him. It’s hard to pinpoint one emotion when so many bombard me at once; none of them are pleasant. I try to settle on indifference, because is the most harmless emotion I can muster.

Peeta’s not even a shadow of the person he was back home. The Hunger Games Victor, one half of the Star-Crossed Lovers of District 12 with all the pretty words and intricate strategies is virtually gone. This new person in his place is angry and sarcastic with a mean streak… at least that’s what the reports say. But that’s fine with me, I could never feel sorry for him; hijacked or not, I’ll never be able to see past the bruises his hands left on Catnip’s neck, not while the memory of those marks linger so fresh in my mind.

I guess what really throws me, is the notion that he’s the last survivor of the bakers from home. His whole family is gone, and that loss feels heavy on me; I doubt anyone misses the Witch, that woman was an unsavory sort; hard to believe she was Peeta’s mother. But the baker was alright. The man could always be counted on for a fair trade, and seemed to have a soft spot for Catnip— not that she would notice. I’m sorry I couldn’t get them out of town before the bombings. Every death from that day weighs heavily on me. Every life lost in the inferno makes me feel like I failed somehow; the thought that I could’ve done more keeps me up at night.

I hate feeling so helpless.

I take a deep breath and tap the keypad next to the door to open it. The door slides inward with an obnoxious vacuum pop.

Peeta looks up at the noise, his sunken eyes narrow as soon as he recognizes me.

I think the burning sensation in the pit of my stomach, and the faint taste of bile rising in my mouth might be pity. The Capitol really did a number on him. He’s just sitting on his bed, staring dully in my direction. A husk of a person if I’ve ever seen one.

“What do you want?” He hisses.

“To see you,” I say dryly.

“Mission accomplished. You can go back to where you’ve come from now and report the bad news: I’m still kicking. I’m still trapped in this… _room_ ,” he says flatly.

I guess the rumors aren’t far off. He is angry alright.

Tough, a lot of us are angry too.

“That ain’t why I’m here.”

Peeta rolls his eyes. “Get on with it then, you’re cutting into my introspection time.” He shrugs, but I can see the tension in his muscles, the way he eyes the door still ajar behind me.

I found a fox once while hunting on my own, during Catnip and Peeta’s Victory Tour. The animal immediately knew the pointy end of my arrow was a threat. I could see it in its eyes, the furry thing did not intend to die so easily. Peeta reminds me of that cunning fox, calculating his next move, assessing his options, measuring me and the distance to the exit as if he truly believes he could escape from 13.

I smile inwardly, remembering the nice chunk of coins the pelt of that fox garnered me from the tanner.

_Better luck next time, little fox!_

I close the door all the way and ease myself into a nearby chair to scan the room more fully. The place smells sterile, and the light gray walls and stainless steel furnishings make the tiny room feel cold.

Heck, most days I feel the concrete walls of 13 closing in on me if I let myself think too much about it. I can’t imagine what it’ll feel like being held against my will in one of these hospital rooms.

Peeta snorts derisively drawing my full attention back to him. I immediately go into defensive mode.

“What?” My tone is harsh.

He just smirks, shaking his head ruefully. “Let’s trade places. See what you think?”

I guess I gave voice to my thoughts without meaning to.

Peeta lays down, closes his eyes and clasps his hands on his stomach.

“Is probably my nap time or something, could you please get done with your gawking, so I can get on with my treatment in peace?” He says with a smirk on his face, like this is some big joke to him.

“I don’t know what all they did to you in that awful place, but I know this isn’t you, Peeta.”

I’m not sure what possessed me to say that in such a quiet, regretful tone, but something I said must’ve triggered some conditioned response.

Peeta sits up in a flash and I’m reminded, despite the bruises and malnourishment, the sickly paleness and weight loss, this mentally compromised boy is an actual fighter. People usually forget who and what he is because he’s so annoyingly nice and affable all the time… or used to be, anyway.

“Get out!” He enunciates the words through gritted teeth and balled up fists.

“I’m here to talk to you. About leaving this room. About doing things you may even enjoy, instead of being locked up in here.” I offer in a placating tone that surprises even myself.

Nothing beats the sweet air from my woods back home, not even the top notch air purifier system they use here in 13. Is no wonder I can already feel the cloying stench of antiseptic burnt into my nostrils. If Peeta is anything like me and Catnip, he will do anything to get out of this hospital room.

“I bet you’re dying for a breather from this place.” I tell him in my best trading tone. 

Peeta eyes me suspiciously, but bites anyway.

“And why would you want to offer me that? I thought you’d be trying to get them to lose the key to my _room_ for good.” He says motioning a hand vaguely around, the sarcasm thick in his voice.

I manage not to wince when I notice how raw his wrists are. My eyes wander to his bed, and the leather straps neatly tucked on the side of the mattress. He has no other visible bruises, which is already an improvement from how we found him during the rescue mission to the Capitol, but the marks on his wrists look fresh.

He’s not far from the truth, though. I would love it if they kept him locked up in here where he can’t touch Catnip. But the rebellion needs a united front from all of the victors, and the cause comes before my own needs. So...

I clear my throat and inform him, “The higher-ups think it’ll be good for you to come to the kitchens everyday and help around the baking station. It’ll get you out of the hospital and something to do with your time. Everybody here has to do some kind of work to help out. You’ll be contributing to the district with your baking skills.”

“Their generosity is overwhelming,” Peeta rolls his eyes. “How come they sent you and not one of their Peacekeeper versions to make this indulgent offer?” He asks in a tone I’ve never heard on him before. Mocking, and kind of malicious. His eyes shift with a cruel glint I truly hope I’m imagining.

I shrug, “They thought this news should come from someone you knew.”

That’s only part of it.

President Coin keeps vetoing any considerations Plutarch Heavensbee suggests she takes towards Peeta for his services to the cause.

She should be entitled to such a thing in my opinion.

But the rebels from the other districts caught wind of our rescue mission, and they’ve been clamoring for updates on the rescued victors. Everyone is anxious to see how they are contributing to the rebellion now that they’re back on our side.

The rub is President Coin can’t really show a bunch of mentally unstable, downtrodden, or plainly broken victors. Her arm has been twisted into giving certain accommodations to the victors as it is. Peeta given access to the kitchens is another one of them.

I volunteered for the job as a compromise: Plutarch wanted Haymitch to deliver the news, but Coin demanded someone loyal who would report the encounter accurately to her.

Also, I wanted to see Peeta with my own eyes.

Call it morbid curiosity, but I needed to speak to him directly and see if he’s really improving. Little Prim always has this enthusiastic tales of how much better Peeta’s doing, and I guess I wanted to know for myself how true that was.

Peeta looks unconvinced but nods slowly. “I’m not in a position to refuse,” he says, “But I don’t trust you either.” He purses his lips thoughtfully. “Anything will beat being trapped in this ice box for sure.” He mutters under his breath.

“Katniss hated the hospital too. You two are similar in some ways.” I muse absently, more to myself. I didn’t mean to say it aloud, though.

“You have some nerve!” Peeta growls. “How dare you say that mutt’s name in front of me? How dare you compare her with me? We’re nothing alike! She’s a mutt!”

My anger flares up. “She’s not a mutt, and if you ever call her that again—“

“You’ll what? Beat me? Shock me with an electric prod? Hook me to some machine to keep my eyelids open so I have to watch her on a screen, bouncing around with her little bow killing stuff until my retinas burn?” He gives a deranged cackle. “I think they got that covered back in the Capitol, thank you. You can go back to that filthy monster now!”

“The only mutt here is you!” I yell.

Peeta jumps out of bed and rushes at me, practically foaming at the mouth. “Shut up!”

I take a step back, reaching for an arrow that’s not there. I may be a soldier, but I’m not allowed to carry weapons within the district.

I’m being trained to fight the Capitol with real combat skills— a sure trade in for a lowly coal miner, really— but I’m not stupid to think I could fight Peeta Mellark hand-to-hand and come out unscathed. He’s killed people that way. Grown man, thrice his size! He broke that Career’s neck like it was a rotten branch, and that was before the tracker jacker poison in his body gave him an edge. All I can do is brace for impact and hope the guard out there has been paying attention.

“I’m not trying to antagonize you, Peeta.” I say just as the vacuum seal of the opening door pops. I’ll be yanked out of this room in a second, but relief is slow to come.

“Liar! Just like her! A dirty, no good liar!”

Two guards step in, one shields me and starts pushing me back towards the door. I don’t recall having stood up at any point though, so my confusion makes me stumble. The other guard— the female stationed at the door— walks past us with a baton in hand ready to crack it on Peeta.

“Back off, Mellark! Onto the bed, now!”

“Go easy on him, please,” I rasp out. Not because of Peeta— Instinctually, I know a lashing from that stick won’t do jack to deter him; he’s gotten worse, even before the games, but the guards don’t know that— I just know that if Catnip finds out Peeta got beaten by 13’s soldiers while I was watching, and didn’t try to stop it, she’ll be very crossed with me.

“Liars and killers, the lot of you! But guess what? I’m not falling for that mutt’s traps anymore! I’m done being her laughingstock! You tell her, she’s nothing but a heap of lies and death, and I’m done with her!”

Peeta truly has gone to the deep end now.

“On the bed!” The guard yells above Peeta’s belligerent ramblings.

Two more soldiers in riot gear tear into the tiny room just as I’m pushed out.

Gone is mild-mannered Peeta Mellark. Now there’s just a rabid lunatic, crazed with murderous thoughts aimed at Catnip despite not being here in person to defend herself.

Standing where I am; looking through this double sided window panel,— not for the first time— I try to put myself in her shoes.

Catnip didn’t leave this place in such a hurry just because she’s mildly claustrophobic and felt the walls of 13 closing in on her. The real reason she fled is on the other side of this window, kicking and screaming; twisting his body while the soldiers forcibly restrain him to the bed. A host of medical personnel awaits at the door with scary looking syringes full of morphling and other drugs ready to be plunged into Peeta’s flesh.

An overwhelming sadness takes over me, but not for the reasons it should.

 _This is bad!_ I think to myself. One thought floods my mind: _Peeta has to get better. He has to come back from this, or I’ll forever be at a disadvantage._

It is a selfish thought, I know.

But for now is the only real thing I can accurately predict about Catnip: if Peeta doesn’t find his way back to his old self, she will never let him go, and I’ll never have a real chance with her.


End file.
